The Discovery Of Music

A habit became a rhythm. The rhythm got groovy. We practiced that groove until it could move :

the static and clutter of too busy days

unfinished should-have shamings

mountains of guilt that took generations to build

{That groove got heavy and that groove got deep that groove got shiny and smooth and sweet}

That groove got heavy and that groove got deep that groove got shiny and smooth and sweet

We rode it past:

our same mistakes,

the forest of our selfishness,

doors that turned out to be walls all along.

until we were floating

our albatross untied

The grace of morning still inside.

This one is a work in progress, about being a work in progress. We almost never have a straight line to anything. We are messy. We pick up things we don't need and carry them further than we should. We hurt people on purpose and by accident. We watch other people get what we we wanted for ourselves. But even in the midst of all that is a life that has its own poetry. This week I am reminded to see the poetry that is, and not the poems I wish I had written.